


Empire's Rebirth

by ladygabe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, WIP, cloning is always a bad idea, playing as nice with canon as I can, pretending like I'm writing an EU addition, runaway plotbunny, serious chapter fic, this is all the force unleashed II's fault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygabe/pseuds/ladygabe
Summary: Unbeknownst to even Leader Snoke, Kylo Ren has turned his obsession with his grandfather into a living thing: a clone of Darth Vader himself. His plan goes awry, however, when the clone escapes, driven by memories of a life that are not quite his -- and visions of a future that will reshape the galaxy once again.





	1. Prologue: The Gift

“Take it.” The two men stood face-to-face in a room devoid of decoration, two dark shapes against a steel backdrop. The harsh fluorescent light overhead illuminated the taller man’s gift, the silver and black hilt of a lightsaber. It was obviously old, the metal dulled by age to the point even obviously diligent polishing could not bring back its original shine. 

Kylo Ren offered the saber with the eagerness of an excited child. He had waited for this day for a long time. 

The man in front of him was the culmination of his greatest project. The clone appeared younger than the Sith lord by a decade, but he was in reality even younger, having only recently been released from the growing tank that had been his womb. Sandy blond hair had been raggedly cut by an ungraceful hand, and his skin was pale from having not yet been exposed to any world’s sun. There was still much work to be done, but Kylo was drunk off of his success. He had been called a fool, a maniac, for the plan; even Supreme Leader Snoke had denied him funds and resources. But he had found his own way, had denied every expectation of even those who thought they knew him best. 

Even Hux would have to see what a gift Kylo had brought to the First Order. 

The clone finally reached out, his hand curling around the lightsaber’s hilt. It fit his grip perfectly, as was only right; it had been made for the man he had been created from. An instinct that had never been cultivated in this body came to him from a mind that was not completely new, allowing him to easily flick the blade to life. He tested the weapon against the air, finding himself calmed by the buzz of the red blade. 

“Perfect,” Kylo whispered, the word a reverent prayer. He could find a moment’s pity for those who clung to their petty religions and gods; the feeling they were seeking must be like the one he felt now, watching the lightsaber returned to its rightful owner. 

“I have kept it safe for you, for many years,” he told the clone quickly, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I wish I could preset to you your original armor as well, but it was cruelly destroyed after your death. But do not worry. Soon your new set will be complete.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, imagining how it would feel to have his grandfather in his full glory standing in front of him. 

The clone did not answer, still gazing upon the glow of the saber’s blade. The red light reflected oddly in his eyes, making them seem inhuman. Kylo continued to speak, unperturbed; he had spoken to his grandfather’s silence many times, and was undisturbed to not receive a response now. 

“First, I will take you to Supreme Leader Snoke. He will understand why he should have blessed this undertaking from the beginning. And then – then, the galaxy will see you. When you are revealed to them, they shall finally understand the true power of the First Order. They will understand that the Empire is far from dead – it has been reborn in us, just as you, yourself, are reborn before me… Darth Vader.” 

The clone finally seemed to take notice of Ren, his brows drawing together as he finally turned to him. For the first time, Ren heard his creation speak in the true voice of his grandfather. 

“My name is Anakin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was inspired by playing SW: The Force Unleashed II. I loved the idea of a clone fighting with the memories of who he was cloned from. This will be a work in progress, with chapters coming on a whenever-work-leaves-me-brain-cells sort of schedule.


	2. Chapter One

“Something is wrong with him!” Kylo Ren did not so much pace behind Doctor Malya’s desk as he did storm back and forth in short bursts, shaking her cup of tea with each step. “You said the event encoding was successful! That he would have the complete memories of his former self! So why, exactly, does he insist on being called _that_ name?”

“You must have patience, sir,” Malya replied, rescuing her cup before it tottered off the edge of her desk. 

“I have been patient!” Kylo came to a billowing halt, gesculating wildly. “How many useless trial runs have I sat through? How many half-formed corpses have I dealt with? How many force-dead failures have you presented to me?! Do you even understand how difficult it was to explain away the sheer amount of organic waste you have produced?” 

“You must realize that he died at the age of forty-six,” the doctor responded, an eerily calm counterpoint to the angry man. “The fact that he knows his birth name is evidence that the memory reconstruction process is working. The human brain is an extremely capable computer – but it still has the flaws of any machine, organic or otherwise. It will take some time for that much data to be processed.”

“How _much_ time?” Kylo demanded. Malya shrugged a thin shoulder. 

“This is the first successful prototype of its kind. He is, essentially, reliving nearly five decades worth of life. It may take a few weeks or even a few months before he matures properly into Darth Vader.” 

“We do not have the luxury of a few months,” Kylo hissed. “We are in the midst of a full-on war with the Resistance. Starkiller has been destroyed. We need Darth Vader to remind the galaxy of the Empire’s glory, not of a _Skywalker_.” For a moment, he seemed poised to strike out at his companion, but then thought better of it. Malya took a sip of her tea, secure in her usefulness. 

Kylo’s anger faded into a stony contemplativeness as he turned his gaze to the monitor on the doctor’s desk. The surveillance footage showed the clone, sitting quietly in his small quarters, appearing more like a confused teenager than the intimidating iron fist of an authoritarian regime. 

“If the problem is memory,” Kylo finally said, “that is easy enough to fix.” Before Malya could ask, he straightened up and strode out of the room. 

*** 

The clone of Anakin Skywalker could not sleep. Broken flashes of moments he had never lived haunted his waking hours; closing his eyes only gave them more power. The blandness of his surroundings were a blessing compared to the cacophony of sound and images that terrorized him the moment his mind began to wander. 

The only thing he was certain of was that his name was Anakin Skywalker. 

He had another name, according to the man who had given him the lightsaber, his lone possession. _Darth Vader_ , the man had called him. It did not feel wrong, exactly. There was truth to the claim, as far as Anakin could tell. But the name alone felt suffocating, and dwelling on it only made the images more violent. 

Anakin stood, shaking himself before he began to pace. A voice in the back of his head told him it was the wrong thing to do, that to find peace he should be still, but he shoved it away. Being still had not done him any good so far. 

It was a habit that he had never formed that called the lightsaber to his hand. With it in his grasp he felt a moment of relief, his turmoil eased by the sheer power he now held. The saber hummed as it erupted from the hilt, light arching into the familiar blade. The color gave him pause, half-formed memories warring with one another for comprehension. Should it be red, or should it be blue? It was like trying to recall the eye color of a stranger. 

His contemplation was cut short as the door to his quarters slid open. The man who had introduced himself as Kylo Ren stormed inside. Anakin got the distinct impression that he would have much preferred a door he could have slammed open. 

“Knocking isn’t a thing anymore, I see,” he remarked, making Kylo draw up short. Anakin saw a flicker of confusion in the other man’s expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“I understand you are suffering from amnesia,” Kylo said, choosing to ignore the comment all together. From deep within his robes he produced a holovid player, holding it between them. With the push of a button, a figure in dark clothing not unlike Kylo’s in appeared. His face, however, was completely obscured by an inhuman mask. It was a mask meant to strike fear into the hearts of anyone who gazed upon it. 

It succeeded, though not in the way intended. Anakin could hear the struggling rasps of his own breath echo through the room. Memory hit him in a wave, the struggle of his lungs not to collapse, the desperate fight for oxygen. His hands flew to his face, searching for the smooth protection of the mask, now desperate for it. It was his lifeline, the thing that kept his lungs moving when all they wanted was to lie still. Where were the large black lenses, that protected his tender eyes from the light? His skin, he had too much skin exposed, skin that would never be able to suffer the light of any sun ever again – 

Anakin dug his fingers into his own hair to remind himself that it was there, that he did not need the helmet to breathe, that he was safe even without its protective darkness. He was whole again. He was safe. 

“For a time you were Anakin Skywalker,” Kylo was saying. “But that is not a time worth remembering. What came after it is all that matters. By the grace of Darth Sidious, you were able to take your true place in history – as Darth Vader.” 

Sidious. No, that was the wrong name. He was Palpatine, Sheev Palpatine, his friend. The great senator, the great Emperor, his – Master?

The word only heightened Anakin’s confusion. It made him think of Palpatine’s face, overshadowed by a hood, looming above him as he kneeled – but also of sharp, clever blue eyes, an exasperated smile, a calm voice speaking to him of restraint – 

“Remember your greatest glories,” Kylo insisted, shoving the hologram into Anakin’s face. It flickered, changing from a figure to a scene. Anakin watched as the armor moved, not like a man but like a shell, a strange droid moving without thought. Its lightsaber flashed, slicing through bodies of human and alien alike as if they were no more substantial than the hologram itself. Anakin did not recognize who his victims were, could not place the location, though his mind played him sounds and smells the vid could never have portrayed. 

The scene switched, again and again, as Kylo recited names, events, the crimes of those who the armored man cut down, but Anakin could no longer hear them. He was lost in his own strange emotions, a sickening guilt warring with a cool satisfaction, the giddy glory of how easily his enemies fell before him, the stomach wrenching smell of blood, the way screams of pain had rung in his ears, the bells of his victory – 

“Get _OUT_!” The voice seemed distant until Anakin realized it had come from his own mouth. Kylo was caught completely off-guard as Anakin’s palm struck him in the chest, magnified tenfold by the strength of the Force behind it. It took him off his feet, carrying him backwards until he slammed into the far wall of the hallway. The door between them was dragged shut, sparking as wires were ripped free of their casings, hitting so hard upon closure that the edges of the metal crumpled. 

Kylo slumped to the floor, dazed, as the holovid player continued its collage of death. 

“I was going to warn you that he could react unfavorably,” Doctor Mayla said from where she was waiting, a measured distance away. Kylo looked at her and laughed, the first thing he had done in quite a while to take her by surprise. 

“Unfavorably?” he said, his eyes alight. “He reacted perfectly!” 

“By throwing you out of the room?” Kylo continued to chuckle to himself as he stood, brushing himself off. 

“You know so little of the Dark Side, Doctor. There is no greater well of power than anger.” He looked back to the damaged door, a smile wide across his pale face. “And, as you can see, my grandfather’s rage has now truly been reborn.” 

*** 

The blue glare of the terminal screen had started to give Kix a headache half an hour ago, but he was staunchly trying to ignore it. He flipped to another article, this time on the disbanding of the Senate, trying to absorb the unfamiliar events he had apparently lived through. His comprehension was further hindered, however, by his growing inability to keep the letters in focus. 

“Don’t tell me you’re researching again.” Reveth’s voice startled Kix out of his already frayed concentration. The Twi’lek clucked her tongue as she walked into the tiny cabin, reaching over Kix’s shoulder to turn off the screen. “I thought I told you that you were better off not worrying about any of that junk.” 

The former Clone Trooper sighed, sitting back and finally rubbing his eyes. “I can’t,” he answered, though he could not argue that he needed a break. “I have to know.” 

Reveth flopped onto his cot, leaning back on her hands. “You already know everything you need to know, Kix,” she said. “The Old Republic fell, the Empire rose, then the Empire fell and we got the New Republic. Which, granted, just got blown up, but that doesn’t really matter – a new government will come crawling out of the ashes here at some point. The details are meaningless – so why keep torturing yourself with them?” 

It was a question Kix often asked himself. There was no longer a Republic to fight for, no Jedi Order, no Clone Army. He had no generals to turn to for orders, nor any brothers to support. As far as he knew, he was the last clone alive. As chilling a thought as that was, he had a new life, in a new era completely foreign to the one he had been created for. 

“Because I’m – I’m trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” Kix shrugged half-heartedly. 

“Everything. What happened. Why it happened. I feel like I should at least understand – why all of my brothers died.” Reveth’s expression softened, or at least lost some of its inherent harshness. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said. A lump formed in Kix’s throat. 

“Isn’t it?” He waved a hand towards the dark terminal screen. “All of this – all of this history. Everything that has happened. If I had succeeded in my mission, if I had delivered my message about the chip in all of our heads – everything would be different right now.”

“You can’t be sure of that.” Reveth leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Look, Kix, tell me again who you were supposed to take your message to.” 

“General Skywalker,” he answered slowly, uncertain what she was getting at. 

“Yeah, General Skywalker. Who turned out to be who? Darth Fucking Vader himself.” Kix flinched at the name. He had read the histories, seen the holovids – and yet still a part of him could not accept the reality of it. Senator Palpatine being Darth Sidious? That was almost plausible. But General Skywalker being a traitor? The very thought seemed more surreal than even his current existence. Reveth continued on. 

“So who’s to say that even if you did get the message to him it would have changed anything? Hell, he’d fo probably just eviscerated you right then and there. He probably already knew had was part of the plan anyway!” Kix’s stomach did a somersault, threating to dump his evening rations on the floor. It would not have been the first time. 

“Come on.” Reveth jumped to her feet, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s forget about all of this and go have a drink. We’ve almost cured you of being a lightweight, and it’d be a shame to stop now.”

Kix slowly drew himself up. Drowning one’s sorrows in alcohol was not the best course of action, he knew. But hell. It’s not like it could make anything worse. 

Maybe at least the drink would keep him from dreaming. 

***

The sun was setting on the red planet of Badeon, signaling the end of the shopping day. A young girl pulled her scarf further around her face, attempting to disguise her limp as she hurried through the dwindling crowd. She caught the pawn shop door just before it closed behind its last clients, who scuttled away with their purchases, clicking to each other in their own tongue. 

The thin, wide-eyed alien who had just flicked off the ‘open’ light in the window turned to frown at her. “Did you need something?” it asked, just on the edge of impolite. 

Siyileni straightened up, sent a silent prayer to the Force, and placed three small kyber crystals on the counter. 

“How much for these?”


End file.
